Beth Henry
ACTOR WRITER
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Flowers
You said I reminded you of flowers
Were in awe because my smile overpowers
Wistful when saying my scent lingers for hours
Then you dubbed me unreasonable
Because I didn't realise we were seasonal
I guess I was at fault as I always assumed
As we kept growing we would together bloom
You only liked my petals in the winter
How in the harsh winds I'd never whimper
I wonder now if you feel any guilt
Seeing from a far how you've made me wilt
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Moments of Joy
My soul aches but not all the time. Those other times I prefer and I spend them looking at the stars, picking fresh flowers, laughing with my friends, hugging the people who brighten my smile, dancing in circles in the kitchen at 2am, reminiscing about good times at 5am sat on the countertop and sometimes just being proud of myself for being present and existing. My soul aches but not all the time - sometimes it shimmers.
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Irony
I knew a woman once - praised on not being silent.
She uses her voice loudly and proudly, to speak out about injustice.
Some are in awe, others are bored.
Even those who love her make it a joke, they don't understand her passion has motive - that her fighting spirit is compensation.
What most don't know is, the woman speaks out in honour of the little girl kept hushed. For the times the girl would cry into her pillow and lie about bruises through a fortified smile. She found her voice through the years since and fearlessly uses it for others...but she still struggles to speak on her own behalf.
And she glimpses the little girl every time she rehearses her smile in the mirror.
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Her own treatment is the one injustice she lets slide.
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Look Up
Tough times often mean it can be unbearable to look ahead.
Despite what others might tell you, you don't need to keep pushing yourself so hard that you break. The trick, I've found, is to begin by looking up.
Up at the tall trees overstretching to protect you from the sun. Up at the stars shining even in death - proving you can live on even at your lowest point. Up at the sunsets whose colours paint the sky to show us that each stage is even more beautiful that our last. Up is bearable...up is the starting point that tempts you to look forward to what you can see next if only you stay around to see it.
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Brother
There was a time in which I prayed for better things - when my demons lived down the hall and I was burdened by secrets and responsibilities youths shouldn't yet know...
I begged for a protector.
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Growing up meant learning to hold myself together as opposed to holding out for a saviour.
Years later however, I realise I have unwittingly been living that long forgotten, childish dream.
You see, it is no longer my own arms squeezing the pieces back into place. Despite his own troubles, he is so full of light and pure kindness that his mere presence banishes the shadows that seek to overwhelm me and I find my soul ignites at the simplest of things - be that: dueting kodaline at the top of our lungs, watching the latest drama in comfortable silence, stealing his hats, hearing his theatrical entrances approaching - whatever it may be.
I'm smiling more and have not only secured the protector I used to need but I've gained the brother I'll never let go.
Too Much
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Too Much
We are often guilted for wanting what is dubbed too much.
Too many comforts, too many riches, too many joys. Because that is too selfish.
We are shamed for wanting to be loved by others and called false to ourselves in order to get that love. Belittled for caring too much about the small things. Pitied for being upset too much by the harsh edges of the world and called naive for admiring the beauties it still possesses. Mocked for loving with all our hearts - the things and people that make our existence feel meaningful. Because that is too selfless.
There is a balance to be struck between loving others selflessly and wanting to be loved in return selfishly. But I do not believe it selfish for wanting to be known intimately rather than at surface level, nor too much for seeking to be a priority in someone else's life when I revolve my time and essence around others.
I wish to love and be loved. There is no shame in that.
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If this is it, it's enough
I've begrudged you for not being there,
Of making me feel like you don't care,
So much so I forgot all the times,
You hugged me tight and wiped at my eyes,
More than that I forgot all the good we've had,
I owe it to us both to recall more than the bad –
To remember the hour-long calls, the star gazing, and mindless strolls,
Full of teasing talks, laughter and hugs that made me feel whole.
I promise never to forget again, and I can guarantee -
You can always find me near the flowers if you need me,
The end is near and I'm scared of that still,
But if it's goodbye let's say it in goodwill,
You were a starring role in my favourite of times,
So, I promise I'll recall you fondly for the rest of our lives.
To the people who have been my foundation these years,
Whether we are still close or grew distant and shed tears,
I thank you for the good and bad times without them I wouldn't be me -
We all have regrets, but I am proud to decree,
Loving you all will never be on the list of changes I'd make,
The memories we made are worth this heartbreak.
When the goodbye comes we will drink and cry,
There will be hugs all round and toasts to the sky,
I'm grateful to have known you each and every one,
I wish you only the best in the next stage as we try to move on.
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This story is getting old
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This story is getting old
They say write what you know -
"But not that! Your writing is too sad!
You've gotta learn to let things go.
Enough of that, not all men are bad."
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Maybe if the narrative changed I could give you a new story,
One where a woman's walk home doesn't involve inventory -
Keys clutched tight in hand ready to defend,
Head down, anxious the wolves will ascend.
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One where her first teachings of the world weren't how to improve her looks - or trained how to shrink her personality to make way for the testosterone in the room,
Where as a child, she wasn't taught she was the distraction to grown men, that she's wasn't obligated to be polite with the threat of 'you'd be the issue' and if you speak out you do so at your own doom.
One where she doesn't have to pretend not to feel her male friends' gaze on her chest,
Where she doesn't have to be on her period as justification for not feeling her best.
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You can stop hearing about it when we stop having to live it.
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Trust me...I'm sick of this tale too.
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Wind and Ghosts
The air whistled by, forming a resounding laugh - that told a tale, of agony and emptiness. Masked only by the smile of a ghost - forming the shadows of a gone girl. A dead girl.
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Stars
Don't compare me to the stars that didn't glow in the eyes of those around them until they were gone. Maybe it's selfish, but I don't want to only shine when I'm dead. My 'shine' isn't for others. Its purpose is not to guide others anymore, it's for me and I want to thrive in the light of my own glow while I'm alive.
